Sleeping with the Enemy

“Whisper it, but Rishi Sunak is making an extraordinary comeback,” wrote Camilla Tominey in last Saturday’s Daily Bellylaugh. It’s hard to describe how far away from “what’s happenin’, Man” her assessment is from the real price of fish out there, but as a parallel, I’d offer this attempt at giving her piece today some kind of historical setting (sort of roughly around the late 1939 epoch) as follows:

“Keep it under your street-fighting Brownshirt cap,” writes Ludwig von Anschluss in Der Angriff, “but unser Führer Dolfi Schicklgrüber iss makink not so much ze Extraordinary comeback from hiss Lebrensraum megalomania , but also tellink everyone zat he iss tired of being cast as ze bad guy und vonts to be ze heroic star of his new movie mit Leni Refenstahl, Triumph of the Biggest Willy.”

I find it impossible to believe that Tominey (a highly intelligent fully grown-up woman) is really gagging to be associated with phraseology like, ‘With tax, spend and immigration all having boomed over the past 14 years, the Conservative malaise is both palpable and understandable’.

As if like, just maybe – you never know – Vichy Sunak inherited that situation as a Given. Er, well – sorry Camilla, but Fishy Vichy has been offered every chance to turn down the suicidal brief of inviting the UK electorate to give itself up to criminal WHO elements, and is choosing instead [imagine that?] to hand over this life and death dilemma to his successors..as in – being realistic here – his failures.

This is the sort of Pass The radioactive Parcel game that makes thinking voters question the value of voting in the first place.

The older media’s way out of their problem is they have nothing they dare write about unless they never look up, and simply treat the UKEUNATO sphere as just political business as usual.

The Daily Telegraph’s opinion columnist space is a zero-elephant tolerance zone. With two or three magnificent exceptions, it still lives in the world before 9/11, Blair playing poodle to Imperial America, the WOMD lies, the 2008 financial bust, the Schacht-like Fed Reserve attempts to replace proper control/Banking reform with perma-war and digitalisation and topped off by poverty for 99.07 per cent of us…guided in a nanny sort of manner by the 0.29 per cent who stole all our money in the first place.

Only via marshalling the full vent of dreamland denialism could Camilla Tominey have come up with the piece she did.

My good and longstanding friend Herbert Z. Bracegirdle-Beaver tells me of his intention in that context to start a Worldwide Charity, Save the Room Elephant (STROOPH) because – being ignored as these noble beasts are most of the time – they are in danger of being starved to death and thus becoming the first enormities to be wiped out by human denialism.

Herbert works in the Obituaries section of the Washington Roast, and is largely celebrated for being the man who pioneered the writing of famous lives before their owners are dead. Faced with his detractors, he argues with a degree of consistency and logic that “This is the one and only way to stay ahead of the pack in such a cut-throat sector”.

Day and night, Herb haunts the hospices, undertakers and PR agents of the celebrity tribes of our time in search of that unique scoop that gives his readership the last words of the venerated ones, invented or otherwise. In readiness for the eagerly awaited demise of Joseph Biden, for example, Herb already has his heart set on “In all dishonesty, I am in a league of my own compared to Satan, so be prepared America”.

If you don’t think my eccentric friend Herbert is doing enough, why not try another approach? Naturally, this one is headed up by the term “Therapy”. It’s yet another case of life-coach “experts” cashing in on a world where money and your alleged ownership of it is being obfuscated. There is an innate mathematical phobia that hit most of us in Second-Year grammar school because the Head of the Math dept Mr Bentley Compound-Interest was determined to repel any understanding of his subject and retain the secret for himself alone.

A great many of us (myself included until the age of about 24) remained mystified by numbers, until reading market research stats and conducting focus groups cured me of the affliction. But others chose not the cure, but rather The therapy

Ashley Agnew, the president of the Financial Therapy Association, says that “everyone” can benefit from financial therapy. “Financial skills are 21st-century survival skills,” she says. “Finances touch every part of our everyday lives. We make about a thousand financial decisions a day, whether that be ‘Do I lend my best friend money?’ or ‘Do I buy the organic instead of the standard bananas?’ I really believe everyone is a good fit for financial therapy, and I wish it was looked at more like self-care than self-help.”

Er, no. Sorry folks, but this is bilge. There are 100 pence in a Pound, 100 cents in a Dollar and 100 centimes in a euro. Anyone wanting to confuse that simplicity in any shape or form is what we financial chaps call A Banker.

A banker is a man who insists that all of your money is really his: you didn’t just deposit it with him and expect good care and some interest on your deposited funds….good gracious me, no. You took a risk as an investor in the viability of that bank: one millisecond after YOUR deposit slip slides under the teller’s window, it becomes THEIR property to do with as they think fit. Should they choose to invest $10 trillion in the bull market for 4,000 year old Chinese eggs – or the entire kit and caboodle in Elon Musk’s hare-brained scheme to exploit chocolate mines on Mars – you will still be left carrying the can…..Government will bail out the egos, and WE will pay for that in our taxes.

Dayglo-obvious common sense well tell you within seconds that there is a money ownership issue here. Hence the urgency of the tiny elites who run the rigged globalist central Banking System to get the whole circus digitalised and beyond comprehension for the average overworked and underpaid ants who must be fucked up the ass, get their house repossessed, and then vote for another term of fiscally insane Bidenomics.

We are not talking about fisco-economic deckchair arrangement, this or that new rule or even levels of regulation here: we are debating what to do with a model of capitalism that has not just failed to deliver level playing field fairness, it has followed unachievable neocon foreign goals that present the human race with problems of an existential nature, along with the misery of millions caught offside by this rigid ideological lunacy.

And finally, Satan’s favourite son Rupert Murdoch married for the fifth time yesterday in his well-established bid to have had more wives and nationalities than anyone else on the planet. Roop uses wives as entry tickets in the art of renationalisation, and has been at one time or another Australian, American and Chinese. This time, at the age of 93, he’s tied the knot with Russian lady Elena Zukhova [67], so keep a close on secret weapons in the Ukraine, as she is a retired microbiologist.

Asked to comment on the age diferrence, Mr Murdoch said, “Listen sport, everything’s a risk. If she dies, she dies.”